Vampire Wars: The Chosen Hope
by Michelle Solo
Summary: My stab at a Star Wars parody fic featuring your favorites from the Buffy and Angel casts. Featuring Connor as Luke, Buffy as Leia, Giles as Obi-Wan, Angelus as Vader, Willow and Dawn as the droids and many more surprises yet to come! (10/?)
1. Not the Very Beginning, But Somewhere Cl...

Rating: PG. For "Star Wars" goofiness.  
  
Feedback: Very, very much appreciated.  
  
Distribution: If you want it, by all means. . . Just let me know first, I'd like to know where my work goes so I can brag about it.  
  
Spoilers: That would be a no.  
  
Disclaimer: Joss, you crazy thing, you. He owns every damn thing related to Buffy and gang. And George Lucas owns every single, tiny iota even remotely associated with "Star Wars."  
  
Author's Note: Oh, don't tell me you haven't thought that Buffy characters would fit pretty well into the roles of "Star Wars" because I know you all have. Well, at least me and my brother have. We put our heads together and came up with this zany, out of this world, insane on the Drusilla level retelling of one of the greatest movie trilogies of all time. And, yes, I'm planning on doing all three (that would be Episodes IV, V, and VI) so this is definitely something that will take up much of my time. And don't you worry, most of the characters (the important ones anyway) will show up at one point or another in this trilogy. I would also like to give credit to Meltha (read her stories, they're simply amazing) for the idea of the way of narrating (i.e. I talk, characters hear and react). I thought it was such a great idea that I had to use it. Hope you're not bitter I used it!   
  


VAMP WARS 

Episode IV  


THE CHOSEN HOPE  
  
  
  
  
  
  


A short time ago in a galaxy not-so-far away. . .  
  


  
  


It is a period of civil war. Human and friendly demon starships (known as the Rebellion), attacking from a hidden base, have won their first victory over the evil Aurelian Vampiric Empire, led by the villainous Master. During this battle, Rebel spies managed to steal secret plans to the Empire's ultimate weapon, the Hell Star, an armored space station with the capability of destroying an entire planet. Pursued by the Empire's sinister agents, Princess Buffy races home aboard her starship, custodian of the stolen plans that can save her people and restore freedom to the galaxy. . .  
  
  
  


"That was very dramatic. Very movie-like."

Thank you, Willow. But don't speak out of turn. I haven't introduced you yet.

"Sorry."

It's all good. Now where was I? Ah, yes. An explosion, caused by a laser blast from the pursuing Imperial Destroyer, rocks the Princess's ship, causing a redheaded female and a smaller brunette one to sway from side to side. As they make their way down a corridor. . .

"Excuse me."

Yes?

"I have a question."

Shoot, you fiery haired one you.

"Why do I have to be Threepio?" 

Well. . . You're smart and very computer-wise. That's why.

"I'll buy it. . . But why do I have to be the gay. . ." The red-haired one paused a moment to think about the irony of her question-at-hand. "On second thought, forget I said anything to the contrary."

Can do. 

"Narrator! It's me!"

Hey Dawn-too Detoo. What's got your goat?

"Are we really droids? I mean, do I have to be all metallic and speak in a series of beeps?"

Hmm. . . Good question. Let me pause to ponder this. . . For the sake of this story, let's say you are both droids who look and act freakishly like humans. And no, you won't have to talk like a computer.

"'Kay. And why am I Artoo again?"

Because you're short and temperamental, just like he was.

"Fair enough. Thanks." 

I do what I can. Back to the story. Just as both droid-girls regain composure from the first shake, another blast trembles the ship. An announcement comes over the ship's intercom.

"Did you hear that?!" Willow, our resident redhead droid, exclaimed. "They've shut down the ship's main reactor! We're screwed!"

Several Rebel soldiers run by the girls and position themselves at the doorway, aiming their blasters and crossbows at the main entryway. 

"We're screwed, I tell you!"

"Amen to that."

"The Princess is not going to make it out alive."

"Somebody's not being very optimistic today. . ."

About the ship, the loud clinking and screeching noises of the craft being pulled aboard the larger one can be heard by all. 

"What the hell's going on?" asks a frantic Willow.

Before her inquiry could be answered by Dawn or any other, an explosion blows a hole wide open into the entryway that the soldiers had been eyeing. Through the hole enter a bunch of vampire troopers, clad with vampiric game face, dark armor (sans the helmet to show their bumpy foreheaded faces) and equipped with laser blasters in ready position. Now normally vampires would use their teeth to fight but, to stay true to "Star Wars," we'll give them blasters just for the hell of it. 

Several more moments go by and the entire corridor is shrouded with smoke and laser shots. Many of the non-vampire soldiers are taken down by these blasts. One blast catches the floor near Willow and Dawn.

"Aaah! I knew I shouldn't have trusted the logic of a reject from the 'New Saved By the Bell,'" Willow snapped as she dodged the blast.

Dawn took offense. "Well, excuuuse me, Ms. . ."

Ere the girls snapping at each other like angry old ladies could continue, we see a tall onyx-clothed being appear in the hole that had been ripped into the entrance. He then proceeds to stride regally down the corridor, the edge of his duster fluttering behind him creating that bat-like effect. Ladies and gentleman, droids of all ages, meet Darth Angelus, the proverbial right hand to the Master himself. He's tall, dark and handsome (when he's got his human face), in a sort of annoying kind of way, and his name alone could strike fear into the hearts of the bravest men. No helmet is needed for this former gentleman because 1.) He doesn't need to breathe or help to do so, and 2.) He's constantly in game face, which is scary in its own right.

So scary, in fact, that the instant Angelus is spotted, all the rebel men get immediately out of his way and let him pass. A frightened hush falls over the brave soldiers. The ones whose brains actually work made a run for it.

"Uh. . ." Willow stood about dumbfounded. "Where'd Dawn go?"

Nice observation. The other half of the duo is in an elsewhere part of the hallway, receiving a small card from a mysterious woman. 

"Dawn? Dawn!? Dawn, where are you?!"

It didn't take long for the redhead to notice a wisp of the familiar brown hair at the end of one alleyway. The unknown young woman, about twenty years old and very beautiful dressed in majestic white clothing, finishes the card exchange with the younger brunette. Dawn places the card into her jumpsuit pocket. . .

"Jumpsuit! We're wearing jumpsuits?! Oh, you've got to be kidding me!"

Not a word. It's the fashion of outer space and you're just going to have to deal. Would you rather be wearing gold foil like Threepio does?

"I'm liking the jumpsuits."

As I was saying, Dawn placed the card into her jumpsuit pocket and walked back into her elder companion's direction. The woman has unexplainably vanished. . . for the time being. 

"Oh, thank goddess. I thought I lost you, Dawnie. . ." Willow motioned her forefinger in the direction of the fighting. "We gotta get the hell out of here! Those vamp troopers are heading our way. We better get out of here or we're gonna have ourselves two nice little neat holes in our necks!"

Dawn seemed not to listen to the warning and runs right past the redhead, darting into another extending corridor. 

"Dawn! Where are you going? Get back here!" Willow runs down the same corridor as the teen, calling for her.   
  


*****  
  


Now what has our all-too-happy Angelus been up to in the past few seconds, you ask? Wha-. . . The "angelic" master vampire (not to be confused with the Master) is firmly grasping one of the wounded Rebel soldiers by the neck, cutting off his air supply. Yeesh, I think that's overdoing it a little. Oh, well. He'd argue the whole "evil" clause, so I'll let it go.

A lesser vamp runs to his jet-black clothed master. "The Hell Star plans aren't in the main computer."

Angelus' grip on the soldier's throat gets tighter. "What have you done with those plans you intercepted?" he asks menacingly. His voice, unlike that of Vader's, isn't raspy and muffled by an oxygen tank, but calm yet bone-chillingly terrifying to anyone he has by the throat. When the suffocating soldier doesn't reply the first time, Angelus lifts the man off his feet while still clenching his throat and asks again.

"What have you done with those plans?" 

The poor sap is desperately trying to breathe, but to no avail. "We have intercepted no transmissions," the man barely chokes out. "This is. . . a consular ship. We're on a diplomatic mission."

You think Angelus is gonna fall for that one, folks? I'm thinking. . . no. 

"Really? If this is a consular ship, where's the ambassador?" the vampire replies in typical vampiric sarcasm. Angelus doesn't let his victim answer, crushes his throat in a series of cracks and snaps, and lets him drop to the ground like a rag doll. 

"Um, excuse me? Narrator?"

What's up, Will?

"I know I'm not supposed to talk, more or less even see what's going on right now, but there's something that's bothering me."

Go right on ahead.

"Thanks. Okay, so Angelus grabs the guy by the throat, demands to know where the plans are, doesn't get his answer the way he wants it, and kills the guy before he can get a response. May I be the first to say. . . Huh?"

I can see where you're confused. That always did bother me when Vader did it. Just hold on a moment to figure this one out. . .

"By all means."

Ah-ha! I got it. He does it because it adds to his evilness.

"Adds to his evilness? Yeah, okay. I see that. Thanks."

Don't mention it. Now, just as Angelus drops the man to the ground, he orders his search team to tear the ship apart and bring him the ambassador. 

"I want her alive!" he demands. "No snacking!"

Several groans followed the demand, but an animalistic growl from the elder vampire sent them running in all directions to search for the mysterious Princess. 

"Why do I even put up with these lackeys?" 

Because they serve you like faithful slaves and make great punching bags when you're angry.

"Oh yeah." The evil vampire takes off further down the corridor, his duster billowing dramatically behind. 


	2. I'm Going To Regret This

Rating: PG. For "Star Wars" goofiness.  
  
Feedback: Very, very much appreciated.  
  
Distribution: If you want it, by all means. . . Just let me know first, I'd like to know where my work goes so I can brag about it.  
  
Spoilers: That would be a no.  
  
Disclaimer: Joss, you crazy thing, you. He owns every damn thing related to Buffy and gang. And George Lucas owns every single, tiny iota even remotely associated with "Star Wars", which probably explains why the guy is a multi-quadrabillionaire.   
  
Author's Note: Hey all! Thanks for the great reviews so far, they give me a happy (in a good way.) As for who's gonna be who. . . You're all just going to have to be patient. Cyberwulf, you had some great predictions. Now let's just see if they come true. . .  


*****

Out of the shadows of an alleyway appears that secretive female from chapter one. The girl's wielding a hefty blaster, looking out for oncoming vamp troopers. This would just so happen to be our infamous Princess, Buffy Summers of the planet Angeles and the lead female role of the entire trilogy.

"Nice."

Thought you'd like it. 

"I do." The Princess pauses a moment as she combs her hand through her hair. "Uh. . . What the hell's up with my hair?"

What about? What's wrong?

"They're cinnamon buns!"

But they're so cute.

"Last time I checked, pastries were for eating. . . not for hair accessories."

Don't blame me, blame the hair designer for the original movie. Can we please get on with the tale?

"Fine."

At the end of the alleyway appears a small section of Angelus's troops. One of the vamps spots the girl.

"There she is! Set for stun!" The Princess whips out her blaster and shoots down one of the vamp troopers. She then makes a run for it, but is paralyzed before she could count to three.

"Shucks."

That's the way it is, Buff. Now be quiet and lay there like a good unconscious person.

"She'll be all right," one of the vamps announces to his comrades. "Inform Lord Angelus we have a prisoner."   


*****  
  
"Da-da-da-dumm. . . da. . . Da-da-da-dumm-da. . . da-da-da-" 

"Will you stop singing that annoying song?!" The taller, older one finally caught up with the younger, speedier brunette. Willow noticed that Dawn was breaking open the latch to the escape pod door. "And what the hell are you doing?"

"Breaking into a pod. . . duh!" The loud, hissing sound of an opening door assured the young one that her that her abilities as a crook had not yet faltered. She casually strode into the awaiting pod. 

"Dawn, get out of there! They catch us trying to run away and we're dead!"

"Blah, blah, blah. Just shut up and get into the pod, will ya?"

"No, I won't."

"Fine, then. I'll just go on the secret mission with the secret plans all by myself."

Willow's eyes widened in shock at this new bit of information. "What the-? What secret mission? What are you talking about?"

"Quit asking questions and get in here already. Unless you'd *like* to become a tasty snack for the troopers."

After heaving a very aggravated sigh, the redhead reluctantly stepped into the escape pod. "I am so going to regret this." Moments later, the door hissed shut and the entire pod was jettisoned into outer space.  


*****

A very much awake and handcuffed Princess Buffy was being escorted down a hallway by several burly vamp troopers. The troop stopped at the hallway's end and Angelus appears out of smoke and shadow, like all evil vampires and villains do. Angelus strides up to the girl and stares her down yellow-eye-to-hazel-eye, but she doesn't flinch a muscle. 

"Well, well, well. If it isn't Lord Angelus," the Princess sarcastically remarked. "What a shock. I am *so* surprised. Only you would have the lack of brains to do something this incredibly moronic."

"Can the sarcastic talk, Your Highness," the vampire replied. "Tell me where those plans are and I won't have you as a royal snack."

"What plans?" the girl lied. "I don't have any idea what you're talking about."

Angelus backed up a little, but didn't break eye contact with his prisoner. "Is that so? Either you're really, really stupid or a very bad liar. I'm placing my money on the former."

The Princess scrunched her eyes tighter to make her look more threatening. "Oh please. You know just as well as I do that this ship is nothing more than a diplomatic. . ."

"Diplomatic? What the hell are you doing all the way out here then?"

Buffy knew she had to come up with a good lie to cover the Rebels and fast. 

"Sightseeing?" 

The reply hadn't been intended as a question but fear made it come out that way. 

Angelus waved his hand in the air, knowing full well what she had said was a complete lie. "Get her out of here." With that, he turned and walked back into the shadows from which he had come. The troops complied with their master's demands and violently pulled the Princess back down the same corridor they came.

"He didn't believe me, did he?" 

Girl, your lie was about as see-through as air. Not even the most gullible person alive would have believed you.

"Damn."

At least you tried.

Now back to our resident master vampire who was still striding down the corridor. By the look on his face you could tell he was brimming with anger. "That snot-nosed little stuck-up. . ." Just as he was about to grab one of his soldiers and beat them to a pulp to relieve his rising wrath, one of the vampire commanders approached him.

"Sir. . . The plans aren't aboard the ship and no transmissions have been made." The look of choler on his master's face sent the vamp stuttering. "How-however. . . There w-was one escape pod that was dispatched during the fighting."

A grin formed on the master vampire's now human guise. "The girl's smarter than she looks. She must have put the plans on a one-way ticket the hell out of here. Not bad at all. Hmm. . . Send troops to the planet to retrieve them."

"Yes, sir," the commander emphatically replied. The officer disappeared down the corridor. 

"Heh, heh, heh. . ." Angelus smirked. "Vampiric Empire, one. . . Rebels, zero. . ."  
  
*****

Welcome to the planet of Sunnydale, home to sand, sand, and more sand with a bit more sand thrown in. People lived there too, but they weren't nearly as commonplace as the sand. Then there was the heat, the unbearable heat that went with the whole lot of sand. 

"You don't need to tell us twice." Willow and Dawn, the escapees from the Princess's ship, were heading away from the crashed pod. They left footprints in the sand as they trudged their way across the barren desert. 

"This. . . sucks. . ." Willow muttered. "I can't *believe* you talked me into this."

"Quit whining," Dawn retorted. "Would you rather be back on that ship?" The girl gestured towards the sky. 

The redhead stopped walking and looked in the upward direction. "I'm beginning to think being trapped on a ship full of vampires is just keen compared to taking a trek through the middle of frickin' nowhere." From their spot atop a sand hill, Willow scanned the 360 degrees of the area. "Does anybody even *live* on this planet?" Only seconds later did she notice that her younger companion had taken off eastbound. "Where are you going?!. . . Again. . ."

"I'm going east. Where does it look like I'm going?"

"Nuh-uh. No way. I'm not going that way. You can forget it."

Dawn shrugged. "Suits me. I'll just go to those nice settlements alone."

"What makes you think there are settlements that way?"

"Because."

"Oh, real technical."

"I'm going that way because my mission's that way. If you want to stay here and die of a heat stroke, be my guest."

"What mission?! What *are* you talking about? Wait. . . We're droids, Dawn! We can't die of heat strokes. . . can we?"

Not as I see it.

"See! Now what's this about a mission?"

"Well, since you don't seem to peachy about this trip all together. . ."

Willow lost it. "Fine then! Go! Go to your *settlements* alone! I don't need you to survive, you little brat!" Without another word, she marched off in the western direction. "I don't want to you to try and follow me! I don't want to see you!"

"Yeesh. . . Moody witch. . ."

"A witch! What a weak insult!"

The brunette disappeared into the mesas towards the east. Willow huffed. "No more adventures. I wouldn't be surprised if that girl got herself killed."

Several minutes of walking later, Willow realized that going this direction was not the best idea this side of the galaxy. "Damn that little brat. She knew this was the wrong way. Ugh. . . Now I'm wishing I'd gone with her." 

Just as she was about to give up hope and go back Dawn's way, a glimmer of light off in the distance caught her eye. "Hey!" She was becoming more excited as the light, now a behemoth vehicle, came further over the sand hill. "Heey! Over here! There's a droid who's in desperate need of help over here! Heeey!!"  


*****  
  


"Okay. . . getting seriously major wiggins over here. . ."

It was your idea to take the rocky, haunted path so you're just going to have to deal.

"Fine. . . But I'd better not get eaten by droid eating monsters."

Dawn, first things first. There are *no* droid eating monsters in the Star Wars galaxy.

"You sure?"

Very.

"Just checking." 

The brunette made her way down the pathway carved between two rocky cliffs, unaware that she was being observed.

"You said there weren't any droid-eating monsters."

Who said they were going to eat you? Anyhoo, she continued her way along the path until, unexpectedly, a strange blue magnetic blast catapulted itself from the rocks and shrouded the girl. She was shocked for several moments before she let out a groan and collapsed face first into the dirt.

"Can we say 'ow'?"

We sure can. That looked like it hurt.

"You have no idea."  
Sorry to hear. From the darkness of the rocky cliffside appeared a troop of small cloaked creatures known as the Jawas.

"You kept the Jawas?!"

Couldn't come up with a better demon, so sue me. Now be quiet and stay comatose. 

The Jawas, as a group, made their way to the temporarily useless droid and heaved her onto their shoulders and carrying her off into the sunset. A scene that looked freakishly like the Seven Dwarves and Snow White. The Jawa group continued their trek to a gigantic vehicle, which could have been the same one *another* droid was on. . .   



	3. Trapped In That Middle of Nowhere

Rating: PG. For "Star Wars" goofiness.  
  
Feedback: Very, very much appreciated.  
  
Distribution: If you want it, by all means. . . Just let me know first, I'd like to know where my work goes so I can brag about it.  
  
Spoilers: That would be a no.  
  
Disclaimer: Joss. What can I say? He owns every damn thing related to Buffy and gang. And George Lucas owns every single, tiny iota even remotely associated with "Star Wars," the lucky cad. 

Author's Note: Okay, okay. . . I know you all absolutely *need* to know who I'm placing as Luke (especially you, Kathy). Herein lies your answer.

*****

We enter this chapter to find our two bumbling heroes in a dark room inside a giant Sandcrawler. Dawn is lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling, praying to whoever would listen that this enormous headache would go away. Willow, at the moment, is nowhere to be found in the room filled with droids and scraps of. 

"This place is about as lively as a trash heap," the brunette said.

"Dawn?" a panicked voice called out into the gloom. A redheaded female entered Dawn's field of vision. "Dawn! It is you!" The young one was scooped into a large hug. 

"Glad to see you, too, Will," Dawn managed to say while her face was being buried into Willow's shoulder.

"Where in the blazes are we?"

"Inside the belly of a massive metal beast?" Willow gave the younger droid a puzzled look. "I don't know. That's what I'm guessing." Dawn eyed the room once more, noticing the scrap metal scattered around. "And you said there weren't any droid-eating monsters in the Star Wars genre."

There aren't. You weren't eaten.

"Then where are we?"

If I told you, then it would ruin the plot.

"Okay. . ." Dawn's pout was interrupted by an abrupt halt that sent the droids inside the Crawler to topple forward in a cacophony of metal. "What was that?"

"Looks like we've stopped," Willow observed as the miniature Jawas hustled and bustled about the interior. A tremendous bright light emblazoned the room as the main hatch the Crawler opened. "Ever get the feeling that we've gotten ourselves caught between a rock and a hard place?"

"In other words," Dawn replied, "we're screwed."

"Something like that." Willow looked nervously at the desert landscape. "Do you think they'll melt us down?"

"Me. . . No. You. . . Definitely."

One of the teeny Jawas stepped in front of the two girls wielding an even teenier blaster. "Is it me or are we made to suffer?"

"It's just you, Will." The older droid sighed as she stood up, hands above her head in a surrender fashion. 

"Oh yeah."

*****  


"Just when I thought things were going to *so* get better. . ."

"Oh, shut up," the older droid snapped. 

The giant Sandcrawler, devoid of its droid prisoners, was parked in what seemed like the middle of nowhere, if it hadn't been for the low-level homestead surrounded by moisture vaporator towers. The droids were being lined up for sale.

"Well. . . It could be worse. . ."

The redhead glared at her companion. "And how might that be?"

"We could be dead."

"And that's worse than being trapped on a desolate desert about to be sold to a strange farmer of moisture *how*?"

Dawn pondered this a moment. "I see your point."

Out from the hole in the ground where the local farmer and his family lived appeared a dust covered and rugged man, moisture farmer Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, and his boyish looking teenage nephew. One of the Jawas ran up to the farmer and began talking in some sort of gibberish language that made the robed being sound like something straight from a car commercial. 

Off in the distance, the teen boy's name was called. He immediately ran back to the large hole in the center of the courtyard where he finds his aunt Fred looking up into the bright blue Sunnydale sky.

"Tell your uncle that if he gets a translator droid to be sure it speaks Fyarl."

The boy looked back his uncle's way. "Doesn't look like we have much of a choice, but I'll remind him." He returned his uncle's way, just as the man stepped in front of a strange, human looking, redheaded droid.

"I have no need for protocol. . ." Wesley stated to the robed creature. 

Willow had been frightened at this sudden attention she was receiving. She stumbled over her words. "Well, you see. . . uh. . . Not around these parts, I wouldn't think. . . Now that I mention it, what parts are these? It looks like a cross between the middle of nowhere and the *really* middle of nowhere. . . heh, heh, he-" No answer. "Never mind. As I, um, mention it. . . I have been pro-programmed for many, many different funct-" Wesley held up his hand to shut her up and she willingly complied.

"What I really need is a droid who can understand the binary language of moisture vaporators."

"Uh. . ." Willow was trying to think of a really believable lie as quickly as possible to save both her and Dawn's droid behinds. "Vaporators! I-I've worked wi-with bi-binary load lift-lifters. . . very similar to vaporators. . . I think." She added the last part under her breath, hoping the farmer didn't hear.

"Will," Dawn spoke up. "You've never worked wit-" Willow clasped her hand over the smaller one's mouth and gave a fake laugh. 

"Her memory circuits need to be reworked. . ." The redhead glared at Dawn. "Shut up," she whispered through clenched teeth.

"Do you speak Fyarl?" Wesley asked, becoming a bit suspicious of the droids' actions. 

"Yes!" Willow responded immediately before Dawn could. "It's, um, like a second language to me. . . I'm about as fluent in Fyarl as. . ."

"All right, shut up," Wesley interrupted the ranting lie, much to the redhead's relief.

"Shutting up, sir," Willow complied as she took a breath of relieving air.

Wesley pointed at Willow and a strange looking red droid that was not Dawn. "All right, I'll take these two," he said to one of the scurrying Jawas.

Dawn's jaw dropped to the floor. "Narrator!"

Yessum.

"What the hell's going on? Why wasn't I chosen with Willow?"

Just be patient, young Padawan. . . I mean droid. Fate has a way of correcting itself.

"And by fate, you mean you."

Um. . . Yes. I mean no! This is what's supposed to happen, so just shut up and stand there like a good trash can-shaped piece of machinery.

"Whatever." 

"Connor, take those two droids over to the garage, will you? I want them both cleaned up before dinner."

"Hold it."

What is it, Conny?

"I'm Luke Skywalker, Jedi Knight?"

Luke, yes. Jedi Knight, no. Right now, you're just an ordinary farmboy named Connor Skywalker.

"Sweet! I'm the main character!" A goofy-looking grin appeared on his face. "I'm the main character! I'm the main character!"

Quit the cockiness or I'll demote you to Wookiee. Now just keep on talking with your uncle.

"Fine." The boy turned to his farmer uncle.

"Who were you talking to?" Wesley confusedly asked.

"No one, Uncle Wes. What were you saying?"

"I want you to take those two droids over to the garage and have them cleaned up before dinner," Wesley reiterated.

The look of "I don't wanna" came over Connor's face. "But I was going to the Bronze station to pick up some power converters. . ."

Wesley crossed his arms. "You can hang out with your friends once you finished your chores."

Connor sighed the defeated sigh. "All right. . . C'mon." He gestured to Willow. "And you too, red. Let's move. I don't got all day." 

Dawn began to call out as Willow walked away. "Willow! Willow! Come back, Will!" The brunette jumped up and down madly to get her friend's attention, but was zapped by a remote in a Jawa's hand and immediately froze.

The red one started its movement from the Sandcrawler. A few steps of a droid later, the red one's motivator snapped, crackled and popped, much like that delicious cereal.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me. . . Uncle Wes. . ."

"Yeah?"

"This droid's all messed up. Look!"

The older man slapped the Jawa upside the head. "Just what are you trying to pull?"

Willow thought this would be a good time to bring in her droid companion. 

". . ."

I *said*, Willow thought this would be a good time to bring in her droid companion. Hey redhead! I'm talking to you.

"No, no. I'm liking this. I've finally got that little brat off my tail and I'm lovin' it."

I'm warning you. Tell the boy about Dawn.

"Nuh-uh. She insults me, I dump her. It's simple."

Willow, this is your final warning. I have extreme narrator power. You do *not* want to mess with it. 

"Fine! Fine, I'll suggest." Willow tapped Connor's shoulder to get his attention. "Excuse me, sir?"

"Hm?"

"But, um. . . That Dawn-too unit over there is in prime condition. As fresh as a spring chicken. . . I don't really think you have many of those out here, I'd wager."

"Uncle Wes?!" Connor yelled, taking up the redhead's offer. 

"Yeah?"

Connor pointed toward the brunette droid by the Sandcrawler. "What about that one?"

Moments of squabbling with the tiny Jawa and Dawn was now in the possession of one Mr. Wesley Wyndam-Pryce and family. See Dawn, I told you I'd work myself out.

"Only after threatening Will. . . Wait, why am I complaining?" 

The droid girl started strutting Connor and Willow's direction. Once the three were together, Connor led them the house's way. "C'mon, you two. Let's go."

Willow sighed as Dawn walked along side her. "Sometimes I swear. . . Why I even stick up for you I will *never* forgive myself for. . ."

"Oh, you know you love me," Dawn teased. She was promptly whacked upside the head for that last little comment.

"No. . . I tolerate you. It's completely different."

"Testy. . ." Dawn sarcastically admonished.

Connor rested his palm on his forehead as he kept walking. "Why do I get the feeling I've started a war?"


	4. Help Us, Rupert Wan Kenobi

Rating: PG. For "Star Wars" goofiness.  
  
Feedback: Very, very much appreciated. In fact, they're mandatory.  
  
Distribution: If you want it, by all means. . . Just let me know first, I'd like to know where my work goes so I can brag about it.  
  
Spoilers: That would be a no.  
  
Disclaimer: Joss. What can I say? He owns every damn thing related to Buffy and gang. And George Lucas owns every single, tiny iota even remotely associated with "Star Wars," the lucky cad. 

Author's Note: Sorry for the lack of update, folks. First, I was really busy and then, when I actually had time to do some writing, I got pneumonia. Oh, well. I hope you'll forgive.

A/N 2.0: This chapter will reveal the Obi-Wan character. . . sort of.

A/N 3.0: There really isn't anything new about this post. It seems as though Fanfiction.net decided to remove the story from the list... I just wanted to give people the chance to read the story... and to get more reviews, but that's just a sidenote. 

*****

Welcome to the Wyndam-Pryce garage, homy but very worn and torn. Willow is lowering herself into a nice warm bath and. . .

"A little privacy, if you don't mind."

Sorry. Willow is lowering herself into a nice warm bath, surrounded by a curtain so Connor couldn't see. . .

"Thank you."

. . . But the curtain was more or less useless, because Connor had other more important things on his mind that even a scantily clad droid woman couldn't falter that train of thought. The temper in his head was building to a boiling point where he slammed his wrench against an unwilling bench.

"Oh, it's just not fair! I'll never get out of here!"

"If there's anything I can do. . ."

Connor chuckled. "Well, not unless you can alter time, speed up the harvest, or teleport me off this rock."

Willow pondered the comment. "Ehh. . . No. I'm just a droid and don't really know much about time travel or teleporting or. . . Wait a sec. What planet are we on, anyway?"

"If there's a bright center to the universe, you're on the planet that's farthest from."

"Sunnydale," Dawn nonchalantly observed. Connor nodded in agreement.

"I see, sir," Willow said.

"Uh, you can call me Connor."

"Okay," Willow replied, pursuing the topic no further. "I'm See-Three-Willow, human-Wiccan relations. That garbage can over there is Dawntoo-Detoo." Dawn waved to Connor, then glared at Willow for the snide comment.

"Hello," Connor greeted. Behind him, Willow dried off her droid body with a towel and put her jumpsuit back on. She stepped out from behind the curtain to find Connor cleaning dirt off of Dawn.

"You're awfully grimy for a droid. It looks like you girls have seen a lot of action."

Willow ran the towel through her hair to dry it. "What, with all we've been through, I'm surprised we've come out with barely a scratch. The Rebellion can be killer on a girl's cuticles."

This certainly got the boy's attention. "You know of the Rebellion against the Aurelian Empire?!"

"Oh, yeah. That's how we got to this 'rock' in the first place."

"Have you seen many battles?"

Willow rolled her eyes at the memory. "Ugh. . . Several. But there really isn't much to tell. I'm just along for the ride and don't make much wave in the ocean, if you catch my drift."

While Willow was describing her and Dawn's misadventures in space, Connor was rummaging through the younger droid's pockets to see what he could find. Dawn, feeling violated by this, slapped Connor straight across the face, sending the boy, head over heels (and not just metaphorically speaking, either). 

Just before Connor hit the ground, he was able to pull a small object out of one of Dawn's jumpsuit pockets. The object, a very teeny projector that was still connected to Dawn via wire, hit the ground along with our boy-hero and, upon impact, the projector was set off, revealing the hologram of a beautiful, but extremely small and blue, female figure (and if you don't know who this "mysterious" female is, shame on you).

"Help me, Rupert-Wan Kenobi," the tiny blue Princess said, "You're my only hope." The recording was obviously flawed because the Buffy effigy kept repeating the message over and over. 

Connor was dumbfounded. "What the? What is that?" 

Dawn decided to play the blissfully ignorant, the routine all teenagers play when hiding something important. "Um. . . What is what?"

The redhead noted Dawn's ignorance and smacked her upside the head. "What do you mean, 'what is what'?!" Willow pointed to the hologram. "That!"

The room was silent, save the malfunctioning message, while Connor and Willow waited for the response. Dawn pretended to notice the figure for the first time. Her eyes widened in mock surprise. 

"Oh, *that*! I hadn't noticed *that*. . ." 

Willow rolled her eyes in frustration. "Teenagers," she mumbled under her breath. "So, Dawn, what is it?"

Lying had really always been this droid's specialty-- 

"Nuh-uh."

Dawn, you're lying now.

The droid stopped to think about this twist of irony. "Shut up."

Oh, I love irony. 

"What is it, bolt brain?" Willow repeated.

"Nothing. It's a malfunction. Old data. Forget it."

Connor had this sneaking feeling she wasn't telling the *whole* story, but was so intrigued by the Princess Mini-Me that he didn't really care what she said or did. 

"Who is she? She's hot."

Connor!

"What? She is."

Quit the teenage hormones.

"All right, all right. You're the boss. 'Who is she? She's beautiful.'"

Better. Willow, continue.

"I dunno. I think she was on the last ship we were on. Princess. . . Princess. . . Oh, Goddess, I know this one. . ." 

The message kept repeating over and over again and it was getting *really* annoying.

"Is there any more to this recording?" the boy inquired after several more moments of staring.

"Hey, farm boy! I didn't come out all this way to be harassed by some two-bit, dust-loving teenage nightmare who is frustrated in more ways than one! Besides, the message ain't for you! You can just take that recording and shove it--"

Whoa! Hey! Dawnster! Keep the longshoreman talk to a minimum. This is a PG story and I'd like to keep it that way. 

"Oh yeah?" Connor said in a threatening, 'I'm a big boy' tone. "Then who *is* this message for, Almighty Queen of Everything."

"Don't call her that," Willow warned. "You'll just make her think it's true."

"For your information, it's for Rupert-Wan Kenobi."

"Wow," Connor said sarcastically. "I didn't know that from the first 9000 times I heard the message."

"She's very observant, you know," Willow wittingly added.

"Can it, Red," Dawn snapped.

That nickname is not for you to use on her. It's reserved for someone else.

"Right, right. I forgot."

Connor, at that awfully convenient moment, had a revelation. "Hold it. Rupert-Wan Kenobi?"

"That's what I said, I said."

"Hmm. . . Maybe you mean old Ripper Kenobi who lives out beyond the apartment buildings. Wait. . . apartment buildings?"

I know. Let it go.

"No, I meant what I meant when I meant it by calling him Rupert-Wan." 

The boy conceded. "Fine, fine. Is there any way for you to play back the whole thing?"

"If you take off my restraining bolt you can," Dawn replied far too innocently.

"Now wait a second. Narrator?"

What's up?

"Far be it from me to question your plot line but, if I take the bolt off of that conniving droid, won't she just take off into the sunset the moment I turn my back?"

Yes, quite.

"Then why should I?"

Because then you'd never meet Rupe-. . . I mean, old Ripper and there would be no story.

"Oh. All right then." Connor then proceeded to remove the button-shaped bolt (she wanted it to match the rest of her outfit) and the message disappeared all together. 

"I knew it. I knew she would trick me," Connor grumbled. "All right, I'll bite. Where's the message?"

"What message?"

The redhead pinched her nose with her thumb and forefinger. "We are *not* going to play the idiot game again, Dawn."

"But I like the idiot game."

"Oh, you would."

Then the dinner call echoed before the droid fight could continue. "Connor? Connor! Dinner!" 

The thought of food made Connor's tummy go rumbly.

"Made my tummy go what?"

Rumbly! It's from Winnie the Pooh. Geez, you kids have no taste in the classics.

Connor threw the wrench at Willow. "Here. You take care of her." He then disappeared out the garage door without another word.

Willow had her own ideas about what to do with the wrench, but we must remember that this is a PG fic.

"Aw, nuts."

So she decides to chastise the girl instead.

"Dawn. . . Will you just replay the message already?"

"But I think he likes me."

"No, I don't think he likes you."

Dawn looked down at her feet. "Do you like me?" she asked pathetically.

"No, I don't like you either."

Dawn sighed. "This place sucks."

*****

Dinnertime at the Wyndam-Pryce house consisted of everything barbequed, considering that the main chef of the house wasn't from 'round these parts.

"Where I come from, if it ain't BBQ-ed, it ain't worth eatin'. Besides, if I let Wesley cook every night, he'd have broiled everythin' in sight by now."

Oh, those crazy Brits and their broiling things. Gotta love it.

"Not me. Last time he tried to cook, he nearly broiled his own hand."

But, I digress.

Connor arrives in the kitchen just as Fred was placing his plate on the table. Don't you just love that movie timing?

"I sure do." The growing teenage boy wolfed down the meal faster than you can say "Nerfherder."

"I can say that pretty fast, you know."

Regardless. Now, just as Connor finished up his meal of barbequed. . . something. . . he struck up a conversation with his dear uncle. Well. . . More of a direct question, but let's not argue semantics.

"Who's Rupert-Wan Kenobi?"

In his dramatic way, Wesley took off his glasses and cleaned them with his sleeve, then put them back on again. "Rupert-Wan?"

"That's what I said, yeah."

Wesley out the kitchen door and at Fred, who was barbequing what looked be mashed potatoes in the main courtyard of the house, then back at his inquisitive nephew. 

"Why do you ask, Connor?"

"The younger, eccentric droid had a recording in her pocket reserved just for him and I was just wondering if it was *really* meant for old Ripper."

"It's not."

"How can you be sure?"

"I just am!"

"Narrator, how can he be sure?"

He's a learned bookman, that's why.

"See, Connor! Even the author agrees. Well. . . There's that and the fact that he's probably dead anyway. Right about the same time as your father."

"He knew my father?" Connor asked hopefully.

Wesley shot him down with the Britishman glare. "Now I want you to take that Dawn-too unit to the Quor-toth station and have her memory wiped."

Connor grinned. "Willow would love it. It's gonna do us all some good. Oh, um. . . Excuse me? Ma'am?" 

Right here, Conny.

"Can I ask him now?"

About what. . .? Oh. . . Yeah. Go ahead. Sure.

"Uncle Wes?"

The Britishman looked up from his BBQ-ed meal. "If it's about you going to the Hemery Academy next semester. . . The answer's no."

Anger swelled up in the boy's head. "But you said. . . the new droids. . . if they work hard. . ." Connor's dust tanned face turned an interesting shade of red.

I think he's gonna blow, Wes.

"Connor. . . You have to understand. . . Harvest time's when I need you the most."

The reddening is not going down any.

"I know how much you want to go." Yeah, the red face sure says a lot about the subject. "But-. . ."

"Yeah, yeah. . ." Connor gnashed through his clenched teeth. "I'm *that* important." He couldn't take it anymore. With a teen angst-ridden sigh, Connor stood from his seat and left the kitchen just as Fred was coming back in. 

"Ah, Wes. Ya didn't. . ." Fred groaned. "And I just finished BBQing these mashed potatoes." Fred looked back behind her, catching the dust Connor kicked up in his rage, then glanced back at Wesley. "Ya can't keep 'em here forever."

"I'll make it up to him next year," Wesley responded, picking at the mashed potatoes on his plate. 

"He's not a farmer, Wes," Fred chuckled. "He's got too much of his father in 'im."

The Britishman kept picking at his food. "That's what I'm afraid of."

And so are we all.  



	5. Beware the Cordettes

Rating: PG. For "Star Wars" goofiness.  
  
Feedback: Very, very much appreciated. In fact, it's mandatory.  
  
Distribution: If you want it, by all means. . . Just let me know first, I'd like to know where my work goes so I can brag about it.  
  
Spoilers: That would be a no.  
  
Disclaimer: Joss. What can I say? He owns every damn thing related to Buffy and gang. And George Lucas owns every single, tiny iota even remotely associated with "Star Wars," the lucky cad.

Author's Note: At this point in the story, I'm only taking suggestions on character placement for Cordelia. The rest of the gang are in place and ready to deploy at any time so whatever suggestions you make about other characters (namely Spike and Xander) are pretty much pointless. Just thought I share that and save your fingers the trouble of typing all that.

A/N 2.0: Another side note: Some points of the original Star Wars trilogy won't be exactly the same in my story (namely the brother/sister/father issue). That one will be solved without any "major yuck factor." And there's also the "who will be paired with who" thing that will come up as in issue in the Episode 5, which will be solved without any yuck factor as well.

A/N 3.0: Keep those reviews coming, I'm loving them!   
  
*****

It is now time in the story for the dramatic "misunderstood hero staring off into the sunset" scene that is always a necessity....

(A considerable amount of time goes by)

All right, I'm getting bored. Just go inside.

"As you wish."

Wrong movie, Skywalker. 

"Right. Sorry."

When the boy entered the family garage just a few feet away from where he had been standing, the inside of the structure was dark and quiet-

"That's not right. Why aren't they bickering or beating each other to death with wrenches?" Connor frantically searched the garage for any signs of droid warfare. "Willow? Dawn?"

A bewildered and mumbling Willow appeared behind the family Jeep with her hands above her hand in a surrender fashion. 

"There you are," Connor greeted kindly, but noted that Dawn was nowhere in sight. His mood changed quickly. "You killed her, didn't you? I knew I shouldn't have given you that wrench..." 

"I swear I didn't mean to... She just up and..." Willow stopped mumbling long enough to understand what he was implying. 

"No! No, I'd *never* do that! What kind of droid do you think I am?!" Connor answered with a skeptical look. "All right, all right, fair enough. We've had our... moments... But she just left! Just kept babbling on about that mission of hers!"

And with that, she and Connor were out the door on a droid hunt through the desert, which is not unlike looking for a needle in a haystack the size of China. 

"Oh, thanks," Connor mumbled as he pulled out his fashionably trendy electrobinoculars and scanned the horizon which was now darkening. "Blaster bolts! How could I have been so stupid?"

I'm not going to say anything.

"Couldn't we just, ya know, go look for her? I mean, okay, she does have a tendency to get on my nerves, but..."

"No," Connor interrupted, "it's too dangerous, especially with all those Cordettes roaming around. It'll have to wait until morning."

"If you don't mind my asking, are these Cordettes vampires of some kind?" 

"No, but they might suck your blood if your clothes are out of fashion. C'mon, we'd better get in before they wander away from the malls." With that thought plaguing their minds, the two went back inside. 

That night, as Willow was ready to power down, she regretted the day she ever got her jumpsuit at Sears.

*****

Ah, what a beautiful morning it is. The sun was rising, the birds, though as scarce as they were around these parts, were singing, the smell of barbequed bacon filled the air-

"Connor? Connor?! Connor!"

You couldn't wait, could you, English guy? Oh well. I'm not very good at place description anyway.

Wesley entered the homestead kitchen to the smell of, what else, barbeque at the hands of Fred. "Have you seen Connor this morning?"

Fred continued right on sizzling the bacon on the grill before she answered. "He left."

The Englishman sighed, not getting the answer he had expected. "Did he take those two new droids with him?"

"Yep."

"Well, good. If he doesn't have those two in the south range repaired by midday, there'll be hell to pay."

Once again, our kind English friend didn't know how right he was.

*****

The search for Dawn was in full swing across the Sunnydale desert, using Uncle Wesley's Jeep, of course. 

"I'm hungry. Couldn't you have brought snacks?"

"Willow, we don't have time. If Uncle Wes finds out both his car *and* Dawn are missing, there's gonna be hell to pay. Do you have any idea where she went?"

His droid companion paused, searching for answer. "No, but maybe that beeping thing could give us a clue."

"Wills, that 'beeping thing' is the speedometer... Hold on... Since when did the speedometer of a Jeep Grand Cherokee become a scanner?"

Since I said so. Besides, nothing else made sense.

"Fair enough. I guess I should just following the beeping thing on the speedometer then, huh?"

"I guess so."

Little did the quasi-heroes know that they and their less-than-adequate fashion sense were being observed ever-so-carefully from atop the nearest shopping mall (otherwise known as a mesa) by none other than the Cordettes (also otherwise known as the Sunnydale Fashion Police sans their leader, Cordelia, who mysteriously disappeared years ago). After a heated debate about orange jumpsuits and red hair, which the group agreed was a crime against nature, they made their way across the mall's rooftop and followed the mobile Jeep by way of their own fire red convertibles.

*****

No sooner than Connor had begun to follow the beeping thing on the speedometer that the duo found exactly who they were looking for, wandering somewhere between the malls and the previously aforementioned apartment buildings. 

"Whoa, hey, whoa!" Connor called out, jumping out of the front seat of the Jeep and running to Dawn's side. "Where do you think you're going, anyhow?"

Willow's reaction to her partner's discovery was less friendly. She jumped out of the passenger side of the car much like Connor had and stood over Dawn like Godzilla in Japan.

"I'm on my way to see Rupert-Wan Kenobi. If you both have a problem with that, you can just--" 

I know what you're going to say and don't.

"Fine."

"What has gotten into that head of yours, anyway?" Connor inspected Dawn's head to see if anything *had* actually gotten inside her head.

"Did you actually think you could get away with this, Dawn? Hitting me over the head with that cursed wrench and taking off into the night like some... night... creature... thing..."

"But I gave the wrench to you, Will."

Willow looked around, blushed a crimson that matched her hair, and turned to Connor. "Long story." Her attention focused once more on Dawn. "You'll be lucky if Connor here doesn't deactivate you like some washed-up child actor..."

Connor held up his hand. "No... No, it's all right. Just as long as we get Uncle Wes' car back before he..."

Before the farm boy could continue, Dawn's face went slack with surprise and fear. She started to mumble incoherently and pointed towards the mall rooftops. Willow could have sworn she heard the name "Cordettes," but she couldn't be sure.

"Oh, what's wrong with her *now?*" Connor was becoming about as bothered by Dawn's sudden irrational behavior as Willow already was.

"Cordettes!" the droid finally squeaked. "Cordettes!" 

All three were facing the direction Dawn was pointing. "Cordettes... I should have known... C'mon, let's go have a look..."

"But you said that they are... dangerous..." Willow fearfully said, knowing full well what those Cordettes could do to her.

"Not as long as I have this," Connor reassured, holding up a pricing gun. "Now let's move."

And move they did. When they found a good lookout spot, Connor pulled out those nifty electrobinoculars once again and observed the Cordettes' movements. At this point, all he could see were two empty convertibles.

"That's all I can see right-... Wait..." Two of the Cordettes moved into his view. "There's two of them now." 

Connor had been so intent on watching the Cordettes down by the convertibles that he was too late in noticing a third Cordette, a fashion-keen blonde with an attitude and a purse to match, strut up the mall walls and up to the rooftop (don't ask, she just did). 

Willow, being sensible as always, backed away. Backed away right off the mall rooftop and could be heard tumbling and scraping alongside the mall walls right down to the bottom of the chasm. Unfortunately for Connor's well being, by the time he did notice the Cordette was there, his head was coming in contact with a pink, fluffy purse that seemed to be filled with bricks.

The horrible, terrible, Prada-clad Cordette stood above Connor's now unconscious body and laughed that horrible, Valley Girl laugh. Let us all shudder at once.

Where was Dawn during all this commotion and clutter? Hiding, of course. 

She watched as the Cordettes carried the boy's limp body to Wesley's Jeep, dumped him in front of it like a sack of potatoes, and proceeded to ransack the vehicle to find anything useful... mainly credit cards they could use for shopping sprees. Then she watched as they all froze as one and wondered what could possibly catch the ear of a group of bloodthirsty (nay... fashion-thirsty) estrogen-filled beasts.

Then she heard it. The sound that would make every mallrat from here to Timbuktu bolt like lightning.

"Shoe sale! Shoe sale! 99% off shoe sale!"

And then the creatures were gone. Dawn felt safe enough to venture from the shadows knowing full well that there was no way a Cordette hadn't heard the cry of a fantastic shoe sale. The droid didn't know who or what had made the call, henceforth saving all three of their lives, but was glad that she wasn't going to be ridiculed for hours about the proper way to shine your hair.

That is, she didn't know who had done such an incredibly brave feat until a mysterious stranger (there seems to be a lot of those in this story, huh?) appeared from the shadows, because that's where all mysterious people appear from when they make their entrance. 

This unknown gentleman was wearing robes, tweed robes to be exact, and had a demeanor about him that said he was booksmart and friendly. If that was because of the glasses that were shining behind the robes that were pulled over his face or if it was because he was obviously British Dawn couldn't tell you but in either case, she felt somewhat safe enough to approach the man as he made his way to Connor's down-but-not-out body.

"Um... Hi?" 

The robed stranger pulled back the hood of his robe to reveal the face of a kindly gentleman with an oval face, thin glasses that covered his eyes, chocolate brown hair and a friendly smile. This other Britishman was none other than Ripper Kenobi, the famed old man himself. 

"Ahem."

Sorry. The famed "middle-aged" man, himself.

"Better."

He called out to the slightly frightened droid.

"Hello there! Don't be afraid, I'm only here to help."

Okay, Dawn told herself, this guy seems nice enough. The droid meandered Ripper's way as the elder man placed his hand on Connor's forehead, possibly trying to revive him, possibly trying to take a pulse. Dawn wasn't good at telling one from the other.

As it turned out, he had been attempting the former and had been successful as Connor's body begin to stir with consciousness.

"Wow," the droid muttered. "How'd you do that?"

"Trade secret," Ripper replied as Connor sat up from his laying position.

The farm boy rubbed his eyes furiously but to no avail; his vision was still blurred. Purses to the head have awful tendencies to do that to people. When Connor was finally able to see again, Ripper was the first thing to cross his line of vision.

"Ripper?" he gingerly asked. "Ripper Kenobi?" The middle-aged man nodded. "Boy, am I glad to see you!"

"The Mall Lands are not to be traveled lightly. You're lucky to be alive in one piece, young Skywalker. May I ask what brings you out this far?"

Connor glowered at the droid standing over Ripper's shoulder. "Her," he said, pointing at said droid. "She *says* she's trying to find some old guy named Rupert-Wan Kenobi. She *says* she has a message for him, but I don't believe it for a second. I think it's some kind of deviant plot to get me in trouble with my uncle." Connor thought about what he had said, then looked at the older man square in the eyes. "Say... You wouldn't happen to know this Rupert-Wan, would you? Some kind of relative or something?"

Ripper took off his glasses, cleaned them, then put them back on his face, thinking about the boy's query all the while.

"Rupert-Wan Kenobi... Rupert-Wan." He nodded intently. "Now there's a name I haven't heard in a long time. A long time."

"I think Uncle Wes knew him. He says he's dead."

This time Ripper shook his head. "Oh no. He's not dead... Not yet, anyway..."

Connor's mood lightened upon hearing this news. "You know him!"

The kindhearted Englishman chuckled at the teen's enthusiasm. "Of course I know him. He's me." 

Dawn jumped back five feet when she heard this. Once again, she was pointing and babbling. "I knew it... I knew it all along..." Connor just sat there staring in disbelief. 

Ripper continued, easily ignoring the babbling of the droid behind him. "I haven't gone by the name Rupert-Wan since, oh, before you were born."

Connor broke eye contact with the older man and looked down at his hands. "So she *wasn't* lying, then?"

"I don't think so, Connor," Ripper answered. "Curious, though, that anyone would want to contact me this far from..." The dark-haired boy noticed Ripper's train of thought derail as he stared up to the mall rooftops overhead. 

"I think we better get inside and quick. Cordettes may follow the sound of a sales pitch for a little while, but once they find out they've been tricked, they'll come back twice as mad and twice as numerous as they were before."

Ripper helped the dizzy boy stand to his feet and motioned for Dawn to follow suit and leave, but she wouldn't have any of it. Her head was going this way and that, up and down, left and right, as if she were looking for something... or someone. Connor noticed her odd actions and took note. He suddenly realized what exactly she could be looking for. 

"Of course... Willow!" Connor remembered where he had last seen the redhead and proceeded to run that way with Dawn trailing closely behind. Ripper, reluctantly, followed the two, knowing something bad could happen at any time. He was smart like that, you know.


	6. Tell Me A Story

Rating: PG. For "Star Wars" goofiness.  
  
Feedback: Very, very much appreciated. In fact, it's mandatory.  
  
Distribution: If you want it, by all means. . . Just let me know first, I'd like to know where my work goes so I can brag about it.  
  
Spoilers: Um... Spoilers? Did you not read the summary?  
  
Disclaimer: Not mine. Everything Buffy and gang belong to the Joss-god and everything Star Wars belongs to the Supreme Overlord George W. Lucas. How I know his middle initial, I do not know, but it makes his name sound fancier nonetheless.

Author's Note: More reviews, people! Other than that I would like to say thank you to all those who are reading this insane byproduct of my defective imagination and are actually enjoying what I type. I'm sorry this one took so long, but it was a bit difficult to develop the Buffyverse version of the Force and the story of Connor's father so that it was actually believable.

*****

"Ow." 

"Willow! Thank the stars we found you!"

"Ow."

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

"Ow."

"I'll take that as a yes."

"Ow."

"Do you need help up?"

"Ow... I mean no. I'm fine. You go on ahead. I can survive without a left arm and no sense of direction in the middle of a barren wasteland where fashion hungry monsters roam in search of shoe sales and victims they can critique on their out-of-taste sense of fashion."

"I'll take that as sarcasm."

Mock surprise appeared on Willow's cut face. "No!"

Ripper broke into the argument in the nick of time; that is, before someone was deactivated, decapitated or shut down permanently. "Could we quit the arguing, PLEASE? I'd like to get out of here before said fashion hungry monsters return."

"I agree with old Ripper." The Britishman snarled. "It's high time we high-tail it out of this joint." Connor looked at Ripper, whose snarl had switched to a fake smile the moment the boy turned around. "Can we head back to your place?"

"Seeing as how you have nowhere else to go because your aunt and uncle are probably de-"

Ahem.

"Right, then. Never mind. You may come back to my place if you wish."

"Really? You mean it?"

"I might not live to regret it, but yes."

*****

"Nice place," Connor complimented with a whistle of approval. "Decorate it yourself?"

"Well, actually..." A hint of a blush tinted Ripper's cheeks before he came to his manly senses. "My, um, friend decorated..." He nodded. "Yeah..."

"Ahem." Eyes turned Willow's direction. "Can I go to sleep now? I mean, I *did* just fall fifty feet off the side of a large building."

"Sissy."

"Okay, Ms. Smarty Jumpsuit. You go drop off a building and see how you feel afterward. In fact, I might just take that task into my own hands..."

This time, it was Connor who intervened before things got violent. "Willow, just..." The boy reached the back of her head and found the on/off switch in the mass of red hair. Silence at last.

Ripper, in the meanwhile, had been deep in thought, cleaning his glasses. "It's awfully convenient we have crossed paths, young Skywalker."

Movie coincidences, gotta love 'em.

"Why's that?"

"It's just..." He continued to clean as his thoughts consumed him once more. 

"You're spacing, Rupes."

Ripper shook his head to rid of the consumption. "Right. Sorry. I was just wondering... What do you know of your father?"

"M-my father?" Connor had never truly thought about the man he only knew through word of his uncle's mouth. Besides, most of the very little information Wesley had given his nephew was obviously made up. His uncle was known to be a stutterer when lying and every first letter to every word about Connor's father was doubled, if not tripled. "Not much, really. Just that he was a drunken ne'er-do-well and then was found dead in some abandoned alleyway."

Ripper reapplied his spectacles with a chuckle. "Trust Wesley to have some backbone and tell you the truth."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You honestly believe the story your stuttering git of an uncle told you?"

Connor shrugged. "What else did I have to go with?"

"Good point." The older man leaned back in his wooden chair, an obvious sign that he was going to be there for a while. "First off, your father *wasn't* a drunken ne'er-do-well..." More quietly, he added, "... all the time. I mean, he was Irish..."

Finally, the real story. This piqued Connor's interest greatly, but there was something he had heard a long time ago that he had to hear now. "You fought in the Blood Wars?"

"And did I. I was a Champion, just like your father."

The dark-haired boy sighed forlornly. "I wish I knew him." 

His elder winced, but not enough for the youth to see. "He was the best fighter in the galaxy and a damn fine one he was. Could decapitate, incinerate, and stake a vampire in less time it takes for you to yawn." The Brit looked down at his hands, as if they had something to say. "And a good friend." His hands no longer interested him. "Which reminds me..."

Rupert-Wan leaned forward out of his rocking chair and walked over to the cupboard nearby. After flipping the latch that kept the twin doors shut, Ripper pulled out a dusty, obviously long since unused box and put it on the table before his male guest. The box creaked open from rusty hinges as Ripper removed the wooden object from its resting place and placed it in the boy's outstretched hands. 

"Your father wanted you to have this when you were old enough not to poke your eye out with it. Your uncle didn't want you to have it at all, afraid that you would follow old Rupert-Wan on some crazy crusade like your father did."

Forget the story piquing his interest; that was old hat. This ashen object resting in the palms of his hands was far more interesting. "What is it?"

"Goodness, Wesley really did shelter you from your father's world. That, my young friend, is a stake, the weapon of a Champion." 

Connor clenched his right hand around the hilt of the weapon and stabbed an invisible foe inches in front of him. It was clear to Ripper that the boy was a natural talent.

"It's not fancy like a crossbow or as fun as a rocket launcher, but it gets the job done effectively in the hands of a true Champion. For as long as there have been people in this galaxy, the Champions were guardians of the peace and justice of the Old Republic." His voice took a more somber tone. "Before the Empire."

Like every child with a shiny, in Connor's case sharp, new toy and a very short attention span, he hadn't really listening. That is, until a cold thought entered his mind. Morbid curiosity forced him to ask.

"How did my father really die?"

Ripper knew he couldn't avoid the subject no matter how much he tried. "A young Champion named Darth Angelus, a pupil of mine until he was turned into a creature of the night, helped the Vampiric Empire hunt down and destroy the Champions. He betrayed and murdered your father, but not in some alleyway like Wesley told you." Now the older man found a spot on the wall fascinating. "The Champions are all but dead and buried now. Angelus had been seduced by the dark side of the Power." 

"The Power?"

"In layman's terms, the Power is what gives a Champion his strength, his will to fight, whether that be for good or evil. The Power itself is an energy field that controls all living and undead things. It's everywhere, surrounding us. It's the glue that keeps the galaxy together."

A female voice entered the conversation after many minutes of staying silent, which Willow would call a record. "As fascinating as all this is, what with the dead guys and all..."

Ripper looked over to Dawn in the corner and grinned. "Now, let's see if we can't figure out what you are."

"What I am?" Dawn asked, offended at what the Britishman was implying. "I'm a droid, you old crumpet. What, did I suddenly grow some strange colored fur and--"

No one was listening to her tangent anymore. "She goes on like that. Probably a defect in her programming. Just ignore it."

"Happily." 

"She seems to be carrying a message of some kind. I was only able to get some of it..."

While the men had been ignoring her, neither had noticed that Dawn had flipped the switch in her right pocket, activating, this time completely, the message. When the message appeared on the ground, Ripper kneeled before the miniature figure.

"I seem to have found it," he observed as the Princess's message commenced from the top.

"General Kenobi," the tiny Princess Summers bowed before Ripper as her plea began. "Years ago, you served my father, Hank, in the Blood Wars. Now he pleads for you to return to his aid once more in the fight against the Empire. I regret I can't be there, seeing as how Darth Arrogant has attacked my ship, so I have placed vital information to the welfare of the Rebellion with this Dawntoo unit. Dad will know how to retrieve it. Please, however you can, get this droid to my home planet as safe and as fast as possible. You're the last hope for the Alliance. Help me, Rupert-Wan Kenobi, you're my only hope." Once the all-too-familiar line had been spoken, the diminutive image flickered from existence.

The teen male glared at the droid in the corner and growled. "I violently dislike you."

Dawn replied with a wily grin, saying nothing in response.

Rupert-Wan went into thinking mode once more as the information he had just received sank in. Rising from his crouch, he came to a conclusion. "You have to learn the ways of the Power if you're coming with me to Los Angeles."

Connor hadn't really had a good laugh in a long, long while. Ripper's suggestion triggered something inside. "Los Angeles?" the boy choked out between bouts of laughter. "Are you kidding me? I can't go there. I've got to go home."

"I need your help, Connor," Rupert urged the boy. "I'm not as young as I used to be, you know."

"No kidding," the voice in the corner chimed.

"Look, Ripper, it's not like I don't want to go. I really, really do. Honestly. I hate the Empire, I'd do anything to bring it to its filthy grave once and for all, but I can't go with you." Connor looked at the ground, away from Ripper's eyes. "I don't travel well, for one thing. And... it's so far away."

"That's Wesley talking."

"Wesley," the raven haired sighed. "How am I going to even begin to explain all this?"

"Learn about the Power, Connor," the bespectacled one repeated.

Connor's argument was fruitless. His case was looking bleak. "Well, I can take you as far as the Doublemeat. I'm sure you can hitch a ride to the Downtown plaza or wherever you want to go."

"You must do what you feel is right." 


	7. Lesson the First: Don't Anger the Vampir...

Rating: PG. For "Star Wars" goofiness.  
  
Feedback: Very, very much appreciated. In fact, it's mandatory.  
  
Distribution: If you want it, by all means... Just let me know first, I'd like to know where my work goes so I can brag about it.  
  
Spoilers: Um... Spoilers? Did you not read the summary?  
  
Disclaimer: Not mine. Everything Buffy and gang belong to the Joss-god and everything Star Wars belongs to the Supreme Overlord George W. Lucas. How I know his middle initial, I do not know, but it makes his name sound fancier nonetheless.

Author's Note: Alas, I have found my muse for this story! Huzzah for me!

A/N 2.0: Not a terribly lengthy chapter, but I wanted the next one to be extra long for your enjoyment. And for all those who are keeping score, a new main character is introduced within. This time, it's a Big Bad. Enjoy!

*****

From a very far distance, the Hell Star looks like any other planet in this populous galaxy. But once a person or creature got within a substantial distance of the massive metallic orb, they would find that it was far from being anything resembling a planet and more like a colossal floating battlestation capable of destroying worlds on the whim of a greedy commander.

Such a greedy commander was sitting quite uncomfortably, tapping his fingers impatiently on the table of the main conference room of the Hell Star as the argument about him continued its feverous tone.

Across the table from the impatient man, Linwood, a rat-faced commander with the backbone of a mouse and the brain size to match, had the floor. 

"Until this battle station is fully operational, we have to keep on full alert," Linwood warned his comrades sitting around the large metal table. "We don't know what kind of tricks those Rebels could be concocting. They may very well be more dangerous than we expected."

The impatient man, let us call him Holland Manners, scoffed at Linwood's warning. "Dangerous? Now there's a laugh. They may be a threat to your fleet of lawyers and rats, but not to this battle station!" 

"The Rebellion will gain sympathy in the Imperial Council as long as-"

Linwood's retort was interrupted by the entrance of two beings, neither of which human by any means, into the Hell Star's conference chambers.

"The Imperial Council is history, Linwood," a new and cheerful voice assured. "Not need to get your knickers in a twist." 

The duo stopped bickering long enough to see their Commander-in-Chief, Richard Wilkins (affectionately called the "Mayor," though nobody knew why) entering the doorway. Tailing close behind "Mayor" Wilkins was the previously aforementioned Darth Angelus, bringing with him a swagger none in this room could match.

"H-history?" Linwood confusedly asked.

"Righto, Linny," Wilkins replied, taking a seat in the cushy chair at the head of the table. "Word on evil street says that the Master broke up the last bit of the council while you guys were in here having a tea party." He straightened a crease in his uniform before continuing. "So let us all bid a fond adios to the Old Republic."

If jaws could hit the floor, Linwood's would have done just that. "Th-that's... im-im... impossible."

"You're darn tootin' it was. But a slick dog that Master is, being able to break up an entire bureaucracy and still manages to keep the lot of 'em in line." Wilkins raised his hand. "Close your mouth, Linny. You're attracting flies."

"What about the rebels? If they've got a technical readout of this battlestation..."

"I know, I know. They could find a weakness and exploit and all that other pessimistic nonsense you seem to have conjured up these days." The Mayor leaned back in his unusually comfortable chair and grinned to his comrades. "Let's look on the bright side of life, gentleman. We've got a giant planet destroying machine and they don't. The odds are overwhelmingly in our favor."

"But..."

"What did I say about pessimism?" Linwood didn't reply. "That's what I thought."

Angelus, who hadn't said a word since arriving, was getting extremely bored with all this fancy political talk. "Can I say something?"

Wilkins swivelled his chair in the vampire's direction. "By all means, angel face."

"Now, I'm not saying the Hell Star isn't cool with its ability to blow large things up, because, let's face it, it is. I should just warn you not to place all your hopes and dreams into one machine." The dark creature tilted his head and shrugged, his coat shifting slightly with his actions. "Let's also face this: the ability to blow up worlds in a fowl swoop is pretty much just eye candy in comparison to the Power."

Manners, a scoffer he is, did it again. "Oh, no," he exclaimed in mock fear. "Not the Power! I'm so scared I think I might hide in a corner and suck my thumb." The mock fear dropped, but the acid in his voice remained the same. "Listen, Angelus, where exactly has the Power been in helping you find the stolen data tapes or the Rebels' secret hidden base?" In the matter of a blink, the form of the vampire had disappeared. "Um... He was there a second ago, right?"

A frigid hand gripped the back of Manners' neck. "Right, Manners. And now I'm here." In one quick motion, the Dark Lord spun his chair in the reverse direction and grabbed the front of the man's neck with the other. The vampire squeezed ever so slowly, teaching the man to never get on the bad side of a vampire with Champion's powers.

"I find your lack of faith annoying, Manners."

Just when the choking man's face turned an interesting shade of purple, Wilkins decided to intervene. 

"Whoa there, sheriff. Ease up on the testosterone, will ya?" 

"Fine." Reluctantly, Angelus released the vice tight grip, allowing Manners to breathe once again. "I was getting bored anyway. It's no fun when you can't hear 'em scream."

The Mayor straightened another wrinkle on the front of his uniform and folded his arms across his chest in a disapproving manner. "Now cut that out. I want all of my men alive for at least the first phase of this mission, do you hear?" A slouch in his posture told Angelus he was willing to negotiate, but not right now. 

"Here's the game play. Angel here will get the location of the Rebel base by the time this place is ready to fry some worlds. Any questions?" When nobody had anything more to say, the Mayor clapped his hands and stood from his chair. "Right, then. See you all at the destruction of the Rebellion." With a cheerful smile, he warned, "Don't be late." 


	8. Murder and Mayhem at Willie's Cantina

Rating: PG. For "Star Wars" goofiness.  
  
Feedback: Very, very much appreciated. In fact, it's mandatory.  
  
Distribution: If you want it, by all means... Just let me know first, I'd like to know where my work goes so I can brag about it.  
  
Spoilers: Um... Spoilers? Did you not read the summary?  
  
Disclaimer: Not mine. Everything Buffy and gang belong to the Joss-god and everything Star Wars belongs to the Supreme Overlord George W. Lucas. How I know his middle initial, I do not know, but it makes his name sound fancier nonetheless.

Author's Note: Welcome to previously aforementioned "terribly lengthy" chapter in which we learn who Han and Chewie are in my own crazy version of the saga. I just know you've all been dying to find out and herein lies what you have all been waiting for.

*****

"Oh, man," Connor breathed, taking in the sight before him. Bodies of Jawas lay strewn about the rubble of their once massive transport. The attack was obviously recent; smoke and dust still clouded the air. "Those Cordettes were really after blood this time. Look, there are purses and high heel tracks and everything. I mean, I've heard of them making people cry, but..."

"It wasn't them," Ripper interrupted mid-sentence. The man had been intently studying the corpses and the track marks left behind by the assailants and had come to a fairly accurate conclusion. "But whoever did this wants to make us believe it was."

"These are the same Jawas that sold us Willow and Dawn."

Connor's elder traced a finger over one of the Jawas' fatal wounds. "And these aren't manicured nail marks of a Cordette. These are teeth marks of a vampire trooper." 

"How could they be out this time of day?" the boy wondered aloud. "Would they, you know-" He made an almost cartoonish sound of a vampire dusting.

"Not with that sun protectant armor, they wouldn't," Ripper explained as he rose to his feet. "And I don't think they were after the Jawas, either."

"Then who...?" Two and two added to four in Connor's head as all pieces of the puzzle came together. "If they traced the girls to the Jawas, then they must have found who they sold them to, and that would lead them..." Dinner plates replaced his corneas. "... home!"

It is said that fear for the safety of loved ones makes a man stronger, faster and braver than he would be normal situations. Before Ripper could stop the boy from running into almost certain danger, Connor had already put the petal to the Jeep's metal and left a cloud of choking dust in his wake. 

The SUV was tearing like a bat through hell across the desert tundra in a nervous fury to get to his relatives in enough time. And as he approached the ill-fated house, a sight could be seen that frightened him to the very core.

They weren't there.

Not the "they were dead" approach to not being there, but that their physical beings were just not anywhere to be seen. A frantic search of the house came up empty of any human life forms (the droids still milled about doing their daily chores), but a note scribbled in his aunt's familiar handwriting lying on the kitchen table was found in their place. 

Walking back to the Jeep, Connor scanned over the note he was now carrying. 

'Dearest Connor, 

If you're reading this we're already gone, but not in the dead sense of being gone. We knew the Empire was after something we had and would do absolutely anything to get it. Word travels fast around these parts, you know. 

Wesley and I decided that for the safety of this farm, we must leave as quick as possible with few people knowing where we actually are. Wesley says it's a good thing I'm writing this by hand because that certain few people are the only ones that can read my writing anyway. He got a good smack for that one, let me tell you. 

Anyway, if for any reason you need to contact either of us, you know my parents' address on Austin.

I'm sorry we did this to you on such short notice, but we really don't want to die yet. You understand, I'm sure. We also came to realize that you could take care of yourself and really don't need us at beck and call anymore. 

Now you can follow your dreams. 

We love you with all our hearts, even though Wes doesn't admit it much.

Auntie Fred

P.S. Your uncle says "Hi" and to give Ripper a good smack if you two ever cross paths.'

"Unexpected, but better than mutilated." The boy folded the note into a small square and threw it onto the passenger seat of the car. "I guess I have no other choice than to join Ripper and the droids on their quest to Los Angeles."

And thus an adventure is born.

*****

The torture part was always Darth Angelus' favorite aspect of keeping a prisoner. Especially when the prisoner was someone of importance, something resembling royalty. 

The Vampire Lord strode down the hall towards the current prisoner's cell, anxious to get some information out of her, preferably with the use of hot and sharp things.

Two vampire troopers, standing on either side of Angelus, opened the metal door leading into the princess's cell. Milliseconds later, the vampiric Champion was hit square in the face with a rubber ball that came soaring from the teenager's direction. The ball hit the floor, bounced back up, smacked him in the face and hit the floor once more, repeating the process about seven more times before the object had wasted all its momentum.

"I knew we shouldn't give them things to play with," Angelus growled to whoever was listening, destroying the rubber ball with one crush of his boot. 

He focused his eyes away from the ball and onto the grinning princess, who was sitting in her cell quite proud of the scene she had created. Hey, if you were about to be tortured by a creature who prided himself in such a field, wouldn't you want to have some fun before the excruciating pain? 

Some would argue that it was just cause the torturer to inflict even more pain...

"Now, your bratty Highness, you and I are going to have a little chat about the location of a certain Rebel base you seem to know so much about."

"And here's poor little misguided me thinking you came here to see how I was feeling." The blonde female crossed her arms and shook her head in false solemn. "You know, you and I don't really have much time to just talk about the little things anymore. I'd really like to know who designs your clothes."

'Oh, how the pain was going to be fun,' Angelus told himself as the metallic door hissed shut, leaving him and the girl, along with the vampire lackeys, alone in the cell.

In space, no one can hear you scream.

*****

Connor returned his comrades on the other side of the desert. They had already created a bonfire of the lifeless Jawas and bits of blasted material from their Sandcrawler. All in all, a pretty depressing sight.

"Wes and Fred did the right thing," Ripper consoled, understanding the look he saw on Connor's face. "If they stayed, they would have been killed and you'd be a lot more depressed than you are now. Look for the happy, a friend once told me."

The dark-haired teenager looked and found the happy in the situation. "You realize I have to go with you to Los Angeles."

Ripper nodded with full understanding. "I realize."

"I want to train to become a Champion like my father."

"I know."

The poignant moment between the two new comrades was broken when Connor slapped Ripper right across the face.

A dumbfounded Rupert-Wan massaged the sore spot on his cheek. "May I ask-?"

Connor held up the folded square of white paper between his first two fingers. "From Wesley, with love." 

*****

Ripper, Connor, Willow, Dawn, along with the vehicle, stood on a cliff overlooking a cluster of buildings that formed what we know as the Downtown area of Sunnydale. 

"That," the Britishman pointed to the hustling and bustling city beneath them, "is our destination. Downtown Sunnydale. You'll never find a bigger congregation of demons and villainy, let me tell you." 

Using the Jeep, it didn't take long for the foursome to reach the Downtown area. But, of course, they weren't about to enter the city without being noticed by *somebody.*

Conveniently, this somebody just happened to be a vampire trooper. Two, to be more exact.

"How long have you had these droids?" the trooper asked as the Jeep came to a stop.

"About three or four seasons," Connor lied. Getting caught with those two in the backseat was the last thing he wanted.

Ripper, obviously, felt the same way. "They're up for sale if you want them."

"But we're not for-" Willow tried to protest, but Dawn's hand clasping over her mouth prevented her from going any further. 

Predictably, the vampire trooper, clad in sun proof armor, demanded, "We're gonna need to see some identification."

Connor wasn't sure what happened next, but whatever it was turned out to be a good thing. His elder, looking intently at the trooper to the car's left, flicked his wrist ever so slightly in one fluid motion. In his own commanding voice, "You don't need to see his identification."

Before Connor, Dawn or Willow could tell the Englishman that just telling him wasn't the smartest of plans, the trooper told his partner in an influenced voice, "We don't need to see his identification." 

"He can go about his business," Ripper told the demon in the same voice.

"You can go about your business," Connor was told.

"Move along. And have a nice day."

The vampire trooper repeated the human man's words and the Jeep was on its way. 

One person and two droids were very, very confused at the situation that had just taken place but Ripper remained calm, cool and collected as if nothing happened at all.

Bewildered silence remained in the car up until the point where Connor was told to park the car. The silence was then broken by the disgusted screams of a redhead as the car doors opened to the city streets. 

"Ew! Ew!" Willow cried, shooing away the tiny demon known as a Jawa as the thing tried to get a hold of the car. When hands weren't working, the droid went to plan B. "Dawn, give me a rock. Preferably big and pointy." 

"I don't get it, Rupes," Connor said over the shrieks of a very small demon being bludgeoned with rocks. "How'd we get past those vamps?"

"The Power has a strong influence on the weak-minded or, rather, the stupid." Rupert-Wan turned around to face the droids the moment they were carrying a minuscule, robe-covered sack-like object to the nearest trash can. "Come along, girls."

Willow and Dawn, now covered in a strange brown substance, followed the two males into the seedy, smoke-filled, demon-crowded, music blaring, smelly bar. What, you expect less from Willie's?

Willie the bartender (what a shock!) took one look at the two females in the crowd and started twitched nervously. 

"W-we don't serve their kind here," the greasy-haired short man ordered with a twinge of fright in his speech. You could tell by sight alone that Willie was the kind of guy who was always nervous and paranoid, even when there was no immediate danger to his person. Being bullied by demons day in and day out does seem to have that effect on a man.

"Sexist pig," Willow mumbled. Dawn agreed with a nod.

"N-n-no, it's not that," Willie explained, being very careful not to piss the two female droids off. "D-droids. We d-don't serve droids. They're gonna have to wait outside."

The females were about to start a war with the ratty bartender and Connor knew it. Before they could make bigger fools of themselves, the teenager grabbed them both by the collars of their jumpsuits and dragged them out of the bar and onto the city streets. 

"Hiding place," he ordered after releasing them from his grip. "Make with one."

"Buh-" 

He was gone before either could argue.

Connor went back into the bar to find ol' Kenobi chatting it up with... well, I don't want to give it away yet. He joined his new mentor, who was conversing intently with the stranger, at the bar and, since he was there anyway, ordered himself a drink. 

Moments after the drink's arrival, a violent shove struck Connor from the left. The creature, a Fyarl demon he guessed, was extremely drunk and very talkative. Problem is, he couldn't speak English in any shape or form.

"He doesn't like you," a grisly, deformed man sitting next to the demon warned.

"Um..." Connor really didn't know what to say. "Sorry?"

"I don't like you either."

"Well, that's a bit random..."

"Don't insult me!" Deformed Man admonished. He, too, was obviously drunk. "We're wanted men! I have the death sentence in 12 systems!"

Connor knew laughing was inappropriate at this juncture, but he couldn't help it. "O-okay... I'll be careful, then."

Either the man was too drunk or just didn't care, but he reacted all the same. "You'll be dead!" With that inebriant statement, the twisted man hollered a death cry. 

It had been twenty minutes since the last bar fight and the crowd was anxious to witness yet another one. Ripper, on the other hand, would rather not lose the son of his long-lost friend to some drunkard in a bar in Downtown Sunnydale. 

"Now, just... calm down," the elder Britishman said in a frighteningly calm voice. "Let me buy you a drink."

Words weren't really going to solve the situation. The man-like creature clocked the young one something painful, sending him right to the floor cradling a bruise blooming on his right cheek. Almost predictably, the man, now revealed to be a vampire with a skin condition, bared his fangs and leapt at the Brit who had tried to make friendly with him.

Some vampires were just stupid. 

Before the mutated vampire could draw an ounce of blood from Ripper's body, the Champion pulled out a stake from the left hand side of his robes and plunged it deep into the attacker's chest. A cloud of dust later, the vampire was no more.

Willie's cantina went back just as it was a few moments before the outburst, only this time, Ripper had been given more breathing room by the vampires around the bar who liked to stay undusted. 

Rupert-Wan helped the fallen Connor, who was cradling a contused cheekbone, to his feet and helped the boy back to his stool at the bar. Here, he introduced the teenager to the stranger Ripper had been talking to only moments before.

"This is William," Ripper introduced, gesturing to the gentleman leaning against the bar. William was fairly tall (taller than his introducer), shaggy light brown hair adorned the crown of his head, very pale skin that told Connor that he was not a fan of the sun and therefore probably a vampire, and a floor length leather duster that just screamed all kinds of cool.

"Hold it a bloody minute."

This story was going so well when nobody was talking back.

"I'm Chewbacca?"

Looks like it, yeah.

"Is that why I have William the bloody awful poet hair?"

Yep. I thought it would give you more of that authentic Chewie feel. 

"And the duster?"

You're just not you without it.

"Fine. But if I'm Chewie, then who's...?"

Patience, William. Patience.

Ripper continued the introduction, despite the side conversation. "He's first mate-"

William coughed, reminding Ripper of something. 

The bespectacled one rolled his eyes. "'First Captain' of a ship that just might suit our needs."

"And don't you forget it."

*****

"Somehow, I don't know, but somehow, this is all your fault."

"I love you, too."

Willow's bad mood was not to be totally uncalled for. The Jawa blood would never come out of her only jumpsuit, her head still hurt from the fall, they were thrown out of a cantina by a sexist bartender who doesn't serve droids, and now she was standing in the blazing sun where she was not only sweating buckets, but a deep crimson sunburn was forming on the back of her neck. All the ingredients for a pleasant day. 

And now there were vampire troopers wandering the streets, keeping a vigilant eye out for the two girls.

"Great. Perfect end to a perfect day." Willow looked down at her brunette companion. "Did I mention how this is somehow your fault?"

"You might have let it slip in once or twice."

"Well, all right then."

*****

Ripper and Connor took seats around a table in an unseen corner of the bar, joining a previously unknown dark brunette gentleman and his leather-clad companion. The new face of the party was goofy-looking of sorts; his body language and demeanor told the travelers that he was a rather silly kind of character before he even said a word. 

It also could have been that said man was wearing a ridiculously loud Hawaiian shirt and khaki pants, but we'll just let that pass. 

"Xander Solo," he acquainted, holding out a friendly hand. "Captain of the DeSoto Sportsman."

"My ship," William grumbled. Xander ignored it easily.

"Spike here tells me you guys need a lift to the Los Angeles system."

Ripper nodded. "If it's a fast ship."

William and Xander, in unison, looked at Ripper, glanced at each other, looked at Ripper again and laughed. "Merciful Zeus! You've never heard of the DeSoto Sportsman?"

"Should I have?"

"It's the ship that made the Romania run in less than 12 parsecs."

Ripper was, how shall we say, a little unimpressed with the white lie he had just been told. Xander let out a teeny meep as he was kicked in the shin lightly by his partner. His partner, on the other hand, let out a cry of pain while cradling the right side of his forehead. Both Ripper and Connor found this to be highly unusual, but Xander continued with his sales pitch regardless of his partner's state of being. 

"We've outrun Imperial starships, not the local bulk cruisers, mind you. I'm talking about the big Californian ships now. She's fast enough for you, old man."

Connor winced. "I wouldn't call him that if I were you."

"What's the cargo?" William interjected, once all the searing pain had subsided. 

"Myself, the boy, a couple of droids and no questions asked." His tone left no room for argument. 

Xander leaned back and rested his hands behind his head. His feet now rested comfortably on the stone table. "What is it? Some kinda local trouble?"

The middle-aged Champion leaned forward to counteract Xander's previous movements. "Let's just say we'd like to avoid any Imperial entanglements."

"Well, that's the trick, isn't it?" This time, it was William to talk sly. And it was also his turn to get kicked in the shin, though it didn't hurt as much receiving.

"You're Chewie, I'm Han, got it? I make the deals and you just sit there and look threatening." 

William was sure to give his comrade a two fingered salute. "Yes, your Queen Majesty."

"And don't you forget it." Attention was once more on the clientele. "Well, that's the trick, isn't it?" Xander repeated. "And it's gonna cost you something extra." He rubbed his chin in a comedic facade of pondering while coming to a decision.

"This is a miracle, folks," William whispered to the two other men. "Xander Solo is having a thought."

"I heard that." The Hawaiian clad one came out of thinking mode. "Ten thousand, all in advance." The vampire smirked in agreement.

Connor became the slack-jawed yokel. "Ten thousand?! We could almost buy our own ship and a bag of Doritos for that much."

The older dark-haired one chuckled at the notion, but also liked the idea of a bag of Doritos. "Who's gonna fly it, kid? You?"

Here came that 'I'm a big boy' attitude again. "You better believe it. I'm not such a bad pilot myself." He tugged at the sleeves of Ripper's robes, urging the man to get up. "We don't have to sit here and listen..."

Rupert-Wan smacked the boy's hand away from his clothing. "Two thousand up front, fifteen when we get to Los Angeles."

"Seventeen, eh?" Solo glanced at his leather bearing companion. "Group pow-wow." The two pilots leaned in closer and chatted about whether or not to take them up on the offer. Xander figured the two thousand could cover a bag of Doritos and the debt they owed. William really couldn't argue. 

Once the group decision had been made, the duo turned back to the others. 

"All right, then. You guys got yourselves a ship. We're ready when you are. Docking bay 94."

"Ninety-four," Ripper echoed, then stored to memory.

William's vampiric senses kicked in as two Imperial vamp troopers entered the cantina. His sharp sight caught the bartender, the little rat fink he was, pointing in the table's direction. "Looks like somebody's taken an interest in you guys." Within a blink and a half, Xander and William were left alone, baffling the investigating troopers.

"Seventeen thousand!" Xander declared after the troopers were gone. He slammed his fist down on the table and cringed slightly from the pain it inflicted. "Those guys must really be desperate. This could really save my neck with those nerds. Go back to the DeSoto and get her ready."

"You can't tell me-" An attempt at a mean glare came his way and William knew that, unless he wanted a firework going off in his brain, he couldn't smack it away. "Fine." In a flash of leather, he was gone.

All seemed to go well for Xander, that is, until he got up from the table and came face to face with the bumpy face of a dark-skinned vampire. The face set the human back a couple of steps.

"Going somewhere, Solo?" the smooth-talking voice of the vampire asked. Sarcasm laced the question. 

A nervous chortle escaped Xander's lips, but he didn't let that get in the way of his big talk. "Yes, Tricko. It just so happens I was just going to see your head honcho. Now if you don't mind, go tell Troika I've got the money and I'll just be on my merry way."

One growl from the vampire sent Xander back into the seat he had just risen from not too long ago. Mr. Tricko sits across the booth, fangs bared for that threatening effect. "It's too late, baby. You shoulda paid them when the price on your head wasn't as big as Texas. Every bounty hunter in the galaxy is gonna want your head now. Even, oh... what's her face?"

Xander inwardly whimpered at the thought of the female bounty hunter, but didn't let it show. Instead, he turned his eyes away from Tricko and onto his left hand, which was now tracing the lining of the cracks in the wall. "Yeah, but this time, I've got the money."

Tricko grinned, which looked extremely disturbing on a vamp in game face. "Give me the cash and I might just forget this little 'chat' we're having ever occurred."

"I don't have it with me. Tell the Troika..."

"The Troika's through with you. They've got no time for some two-bit smugglers who drop their shipments at the drop of a hat... or an Imperial cruiser."

Xander's right hand reached for the small but deadly contraption he carried at his side, just in case. "Even I get boarded sometimes. You think I had a choice?"

The vampire's grin didn't cease. "You can tell that to the Troika. They might only take your ship, if you're lucky."

"Over my dead body," the human discouraged. 

Tricko licked his lips, almost tasting the upcoming blood. "That's the idea, baby. I've been looking forward to draining you for a long time." 

Xander silently congratulated himself for thinking ahead. "Yeah, I'll bet you have." 

Funny thing is, Tricko didn't even see the crossbow raise above the table surface and shoot the already notched bolt until the wooden object was buried deep in his chest. "Oh, this is not good..." His last words hung in the air just like the dust he exploded into. 

Xander stood up once more and started out of the cantina, this time confident that no vampire would stop him. He brushed Tricko dust from his shirt and flipped a coin Willie's way. 

"Sorry 'bout the mess." 


	9. Troika the Hutt and Other Oddities

Rating: PG. For "Star Wars" goofiness.  
  
Feedback: Very, very much appreciated. In fact, it's mandatory.  
  
Distribution: If you want it, by all means... Just let me know first, I'd like to know where my work goes so I can brag about it.  
  
Spoilers: Um... Spoilers? Did you not read the summary?  
  
Disclaimer: Not mine. Everything Buffy and gang belong to the Joss-god and everything Star Wars belongs to the Supreme Overlord George W. Lucas.

Author's Note: Yet another abnormally short chapter. I needed to give a major (and minor) plot point their own chapter. 

A/N 2.0: Star Wars fans will notice that I used the scene with Han and Jabba from the special edition of A New Hope. I wanted to introduce Warren, Andrew and Jonathan to the public before their major scenes in the 3rd (technically 6th) installment of the series.

*****

Angelus was in a bad mood. Normally this isn't a bad thing; he's notorious for always being a bit on the perturbed side. 

"Her resistance to the torture is incredible," the gelled wonder muttered to Mayor Wilkins, who was standing to his left. "And that pisses me off!"

"Easy, big fella," Wilkins consoled, patting the vampire on the shoulder. "Okay, so physical pain doesn't work. We know that now. In fact, we could use that to our advantage."

Angelus cocked an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

Before an explanation could be given, they were approached by one of the lower ranked officers. "The final check-out is complete. All systems are fully operational. What course shall we set?" 

The Mayor turned from the officer with a wily grin on his face. "That's what I mean," he said, pointing at the messenger. "Strong-arming her isn't going to work, so..."

The ebony-haired vampire returned the grin, but with a more malicious undertone. "Officer," Angelus called over Wilkins' shoulder. "Set a course for the Los Angeles system." 

"And make it snappy," the Mayor added as the officer turned to walk away. 

For the first time in a good long while, Angelus laughed a cheerful (but still really evil-like) laugh. "Rick, have I mentioned how evil you are?"

A hint of a blush colored the Mayor's cheeks. "Oh, stop. You're just as malicious."

"Really? You think?"

"Angelus, I don't think. You know that."

*****

Connor Skywalker and Rupert-Wan Kenobi left Willie's cantina in quite a hurry. Having an entire squadron of vampire troopers on your tail does not favor the slow of step.

"You do realize you'll have to sell the Jeep," Ripper quickly reminded the youth as the duo made their way down the main street.

"That's okay," Connor assured. "I'm never coming back to this planet ever again."

Oh, Connor, how wrong you are.

*****

Docking Bay 94 was a lot more crowded than when Xander and Spike had left it. Milling about the DeSoto was a trio of nerds, a.k.a. the Troika, and a bunch of their hired lackeys. The twosome had theorized that the only reason they hired lackeys in the first place was that they couldn't make actual friends, but they knew better than to say that to the Troika's faces. Nerds though they are, they carried a lot of power.

The first nerd, Warren, "the Head" of the Troika, is the tallest and self-proclaimed smartest of the three and that's why he gets to be the Head. The second nerd, Andrew, spineless whelp he was, didn't argue with Warren's theory and he, being second tallest, got to be "the Body." Jonathan, the third and shortest nerd, was stuck at the bottom of the pyramid of power and was therefore made "the Tail."

"They're never gonna show up."

"Patience, Short Round," Warren admonished. "You must have patience. They've gotta show up sometime. Those two would never leave without their precious... they call that a ship?"

Xander had to hold William back. True, the vampire could do no damage, seeing as how all three members of the Troika were of the human race, but those lackeys with crossbows in hand didn't seem all that vampire-friendly.

Unfortunately for Xander's "just turn around and walk away" plan, Warren heard the faintest scuffling over by the entryway. It really didn't take a stretch of the imagination to figure out who that was.

"Come on out, Solo! We've been waiting for you."

The pair left the sanctuary of the doorway moments later, having come to the unanimous decision that it was now or never. He who was tropical-clad came face to face with the Head while William found refuge in the shadowed region of the docking bay.

"I've been waiting for you, Mears." The tough guy tone in Xander's voice would have been more effective if his voice hadn't cracked mid-sentence. 

"I expected you would be."

"I'm not the type to run." In the shadows, a sniggering could be heard. "Oh really? Well then, if you're so cool, then why don't you come out here in the blazing sun and come talk to our bosses?" The sniggering stopped abruptly. "I thought not." 

"Xander, my boy," Warren said in a fatherly-like demeanor. "There are times when you disappoint me. Why haven't you paid up?" The Head shook his own solemnly. "And why did you have to dust poor Tricko like that? I mean, after all we've been through..." 

"You sent Tricko to drain me."

Warren placed his hand on his chest and gasped in feign surprise. "Alexander, why, you're the best smuggler in the business. You're too valuable to bite. He was only relaying my concern at your delays."

"He was hungry."

"Well... yeah. But that's unavoidable."

"Next time, Mears, don't send one of those annoying bloodsuckers. If you've got something to say, tell me yourself."

Warren let his hand drop from his chest, but the tone of fatherliness remained intact. "Xander, Xander. If only you hadn't had to dump that shipment of comic books... you understand I just can't make an exception. Where would we be if every pilot who smuggled for us dumped their shipment at the first sign of an Imperial starship? It's not good business." 

"You know, even I get pulled over sometimes. I didn't really have any other choice." Xander edged closer to the shadow-protected William. "Look, we've got a charter right now and I can pay you back, plus a little extra. I just need more time."

The lackeys all about Xander and Spike began aiming the crossbows; one for Xander's head and the other for the vampire's heart. Both gulped uneasily.

"Put your crossbows away," Warren ordered, and the lackeys complied. Xander's breath returned to him. "Xander, my boy, I'm only doing this because you're the best and we need you. So, for an extra, say... twenty percent, I'll give you a little more time... but this is it. If you disappoint me again, I'll put a price on your heads so large you won't be able to go near a populated city for the rest of your short, and in the vamp's case undead, life." 

Jonathan leaned over to his taller, blonde companion. "Why does he get all the cool lines?"

Warren glared venomously to the diminutive one. "Must we go through this again, Pee-Wee? I'm the Head and I make all the cool decisions and get the cool lines. The Tail, that being you, get to stand there and watch me."

"Do I even have a purpose?"

The Head sighed impatiently. "You cast the spells that make people fear us. And you make me look taller."

"What about me?" the middle one interjected.

"You summon demons to collect the bounty."

Andrew grinned. "Oh yeah. I'm cool."

Warren patted his friend's shoulder, like one would do to a good puppy. "You keep believing that." He turned away from his associates and back to Xander, who was now waiting with a retort.

"Warren, we'll pay you because we have nothing better to do."


	10. Maybe Not a Piece of Junk After All

Rating: PG. For "Star Wars" goofiness.  
  
Feedback: Very, very much appreciated. In fact, it's mandatory.  
  
Distribution: If you want it, by all means... Just let me know first, I'd like to know where my work goes so I can brag about it.  
  
Spoilers: Um... Spoilers? Did you not read the summary?  
  
Disclaimer: Not mine. Everything Buffy and gang belong to the Joss-god and everything Star Wars belongs to the Supreme Overlord George W. Lucas. How I know his middle initial I do not know, but it makes his name sound fancier nonetheless.

Author's Note: After a long and well-deserved sabbatical, I am back with another installment of this thing I call a parody. Enjoy!

*****

Connor and Ripper had not been in Docking Bay 94 for more than two seconds before the youth opened his big, tactless mouth.

"What a piece of junk!"

Not a good thing to call someone's pride and joy "a piece of junk" just after you met them. Especially if that someone happens to be a vampire with very pointy teeth.

"He can't hurt me. Every time he tries to hit somebody, a firework goes off in his brain."

Yes, but he can make fun of you in that British swagger of his until you cry.

"I still stand by my initial chapter-opening statement."

Xander appeared on the ship's ramp in time to catch Connor's last words.

"And what would that be exactly?"

"That your ship is a piece of junk."

The self-proclaimed Han Solo-type character jumped off the ramp, gave the ship a good once-over and turned to the boy and his bespectacled mentor. "Can't disagree with you on that one, chief." An animalistic snarl could be heard echoing through the ship's metallic halls. "But she'll make point five past light speed-"

"You don't even know what that means, Solo!"

"I do too!"

"Do not!"

"Do too!"

"Not!"

"Too!" 

"Then what does it mean?"

Xander scratched his head, trying ever so hard to form an answer that would be mildly appropriate and possibly right. "It... uh... Means that... uh... If there were points past light speed, it would make five."

If you listened carefully, you could actually hear Spike's patience snap in his head. "You see, narrator! He doesn't even know what 'point five past light speed' is! Some captain he is!"

This is in no way a push for you to become my own version of Han Solo, is it, Spike?

"Have you read the reviews?! They want me!"

Ripper leaned in towards Connor. "This is going to take a while, isn't it?"

"RUN AWAAAAAY!"

The two droids who had been previously absent from this scene came bolting into the bay like bats out of Hell, kicking up clouds of dirt in their wake and screaming in a manner that closely resembled King Arthur and his Round Table being assaulted by Frenchmen with projectile animals.

This image would have been laughable to Connor if the droids weren't being chased by a flock of very angry (assume they're always angry because, well, it's their job) vampire troopers and a whole arsenal of weapons (because, let's face it, teeth ain't always gonna cut it) instead of catapulted barnyard creatures. 

"RUN AWAAAAAY!"

The moment the vamp troopers came careening around the doorway bend and into Docking Bay 94, the trio who had been standing outside heeded the outcried warning and, with the droids, made a mad dash to the DeSoto, which, thanks to the quick-thinking-and-reacting William, had already fired up its engines for a very speedy take-off.

"Stop that ship!" the commander of the troopers cried. He knew it was fruitless, but it was still worth a small shot.

And a small shot from Xander's crossbow penetrated both his armor and heart, dusting him instantly.

Before Xander or any of the vamp troopers could do any more damage physically, the DeSoto's doors slammed shut and took off into the crystal blue desert sky. 

All passengers, droids and men alike, rushed to the cockpit, where Xander's companion had already taken complete control of the ship.

"Spike, get us outta here!"

And with no further convincing on Xander's part, he got them out of there, making Willow sick in the process. 

"Ugh... I forgot how much I hate space travel."

The vampiric pilot scoffed. "Get used to it, Red."

"Holy mother of cheesecake!" Xander yelped after taking a glance at the radar screen. "You guys must've really pissed off the Empire. They've sent an Imperial Cruiser after you." He turned his attention away from the odd couple and towards his shipmate. "Angle the deflector shields while I make the calculations for the jump to light speed."

Spike did as he was told, though Connor swore he could hear "Doesn't know what he's talking about" being mumbled under his breath. 

From behind, the Cruisers were gaining speed and were ready to cut them off like an idiot on the highway. 

"Watch it, Willie! There's two more of 'em coming and they're going to..."

We already know. 

Connor chose this awkward and tense moment to speak his mind, much to Rupert's dismay. 

"Why don't you outrun them? I thought you said this thing was fast!" 

Spike also chose this awkward and tense moment to speak his mind, much to Xander's dismay.

"Watch your mouth, bit, or you're gonna find yourself floating home. In fact, I have a good enough mind to..." Xander smacked Spike's hand away from the passenger ejector button. "Fine. You're lucky this time, kid. Anyway, we'll be safe enough once we make the jump to hyperspace. I know a few tricks; we'll lose 'em."

"That's the pilot's job, Spike, and you're not the pilot."

"Can it, Chewie."

"'Can it, Chewie?' Narrator!"

I'm just letting this story take its natural course. If he ends up becoming the Han Solo character, so be it.

"No fair! I'm Han, not his overly furry companion!"

Before there were any more comments from the peanut gallery, the DeSoto was assaulted from behind by the Imperial Cruisers' fire, causing the ship to shake back and forth in a violent manner. 

"Now I *am* going to be sick." Willow bolted from the cockpit, holding her stomach in one hand and her mouth in the other.

Spike, in the meanwhile, let out a riotous laugh. "Here's where the fun begins!"

Another explosion convulsed the crew. 

Rupert-Wan spoke for the first time since they took refuge in the somewhat rickety space vehicle. "How long before we can make the jump to lightspeed?" 

"It'll take a few moments to get the directions from the navi-computer."

Yet another burst rocked the ship. Pleasant sounds from Willow could be heard from the bathroom.

"Are you kidding?!" Connor blurted. "At the rate they're gaining..."

"Traveling through hyperspace isn't like organizing books, boy! Without precise calculations we could fly right through a star or bounce too close to a supernova and that'd end your trip real quick, wouldn't it?" Spike pondered his words for a minute. "Damn, I sound good saying that." Xander only huffed.

"At least you could've waited until we met the Princess before you stole my role."

Now the DeSoto was being bombarded with an ambush of attacks from the enemy. A rather annoying red warning light begins to flash.

Connor pointed to the blinking crimson light like a curious three year old. "Whassat?" 

Spike smacked his hand away. "We're losing the deflector shield. Strap yourselves in, folks, I'm gonna make the jump to lightspeed... unless you want your face to become hilariously pancake-shaped."

As funny as that image would be, none of the passengers aboard really wanted their heads to be modeled like a breakfast food. 

All were strapped in and, for the most part, ready for another, even faster take-off into the recesses of space. 


End file.
